The worst of American public education

Thursday, 18 February 2010

I have recently heard of a school in Pennsylvania that issues students new MacBook computers. This is a good idea. I have a MacBook and it's a really good computer-- I wouldn't have anything Windows for anything, especially if it came free.

However this school took a page from the antichrist of industries, Microsoft, and pulled a dirty rotten trick on the students. The students and their families had to sign the expected agreement that the computer would not be used for anything illegal or immoral-- all right, this is fair, because the computer belongs to the school and you can't expect to use public-school property to do something that's not in the best interests of the school and its reputation. In the agreement the students were informed that the computer had some (unnamed) software program that was 'intended' to help track use of the computer in case of theft or security breaches, and to help get it back. But-- guess what the software function was!

That's right-- the built-in web camera. The school had the computers seeded (best word for it) with a secret program enabling the school administration to turn on the computer whenever they wanted to spy on the student user. The students only figured this out because one of the two little LED lights at the top would come on and go off at random times. Naturally they got plenty of good pictures of girls doing homework in their underwear in what they thought was the privacy of their own rooms, as well as some guys doing the expected obscene things guys do whilst online, you know. The point is that the school broke two major Federal laws, the right to privacy (since the students were permitted to use the computers for non-school work and on non-school property) and the codes against wiretapping (since they did it in secret and without any warning that they might do it). In fact the program on the computer was totally hidden from the user and the user did not even know what it could do or even that it was there, and the agreement HID the facts from the users by deliberately misleading anyone who read it.

Needless to say there is now a huge class-action suit against the school. I kind of wish I were involved in it. There isn't much reason for me to ever throw a perfectly-good MacBook through a public-school building's window, but this would be it.

Then again it is NOT a perfectly-good MacBook-- it's a polluted one and the only way to ensure you are done with this problem is to throw it through a public-school building's window.

Or, like my dad suggested, put a piece of electrical tape over the web camera and drive them nuts when they don't get a picture. That would be clever because it's not like they could ever complain and say, 'Hey, how come your camera doesn't work?'

And people online have said our assistant principal, Mr H--, is unreasonable for saying that I think I am 'holier than thou' and that my friend is a 'player' when she's not. At least he had reason to believe he was being accurate.

I can't wait to get to Cambridge.

PS-- here is a link with the story (copy and paste):
http://www.macobserver.com/tmo/article/lawsuit_alleges_school_spied_on_student_by_remote_macbook_camera_activation/

...

In England, week 1

August 7-14, 2009 (posted by Janine, 00.30 Sat 15 Aug-- London)
Itinerary for the first week:

Sat 8 Aug
- Depart Philadelphia, 6.20 PM

Sun 9 Aug
- Arrive Gatwick, 6.55 AM
- Train to Norfolk (stops twice in London)
- Met by Lady B at train depot, Aylsham.
- Lunch, drive to her house.

Mon 10 Aug
- Conference at UEA, outside Norwich, 10 AM. (I am already accepted here for 2010.)
- Lunch with Lady B, Norfolk city
- Drive past house we rented 2006-2008, photos
- Meet friends from HOH for supper, ice cream, watch '17 Again' and 'John Tucker Must Die' on DVD

Tue 11 Aug
- Conference at U York, 11 AM. (I am tentatively accepted at the meeting.)
- Lunch with Lady B, shopping in York
- Return to Aylsham, eve. (this is like a 3-hour drive.) Games and supper with Lady B & her dad

Wed 12 Aug
- Hanging out with HOH friends, shopping, swimming at pool. 'Near-death experience' when Cara lets wheels slide off tarmac and car almost goes into boggy grass. All are safe. Car muddy. Girls giggly (defence mechanism against being scared witless).

Thu 13 Aug (Rain, slight.)
- Meeting at U Cambridge, AM (Jessy expresses an interest and this ends up being two separate meetings.)
- Meet Daddy, Mother, Lisa & J.J. for lunch (they arrive this morning)
- Return to Lady B's for evening, supper. Watch 'Emma' on DVD-- Lisa glued to it.

Fri 14 Aug
- Visiting Houghton Hall, Houghton beach with Lady B, photos, etc
- Drive down to London, PM, check into Swallow, Earl's Court. Jessy and I have long walk in town, take photos, get propositioned by cute but somewhat rude guys. Making plans for tomorrow.
...

Regarding chick lit

Sunday afternoon 15 February 2009

This morning we got dressed more conventionally for 2009 and drove down to Beach Haven to attend Communion. Afterwards we had a pleasant drive back up the Island to Barnegat Light, went up the lighthouse and had tea at the cafe near there. Jessy apologised for her self-indulgence last night. 'I don't know what came over me,' she said sheepishly.

I made a laugh. 'Oh, I think I know what came... over you.'

She blushed. 'Well....'

'Be sure to change the sheets before we leave tomorrow,' I said.

She nodded at once. 'Of course.' Then she giggled. 'But... I still have tonight....'

I batted her arm in the car.

We drove off the Island and went to Target, picking up some stuff for our dinner, and then drove down Route 9 to the end of Dock Road which is one of the places Daddy often takes us. There is a boat-launch ramp there and a bit of a playground as well as a very odd, large house made of plain construction plywood finished in fiberglass resin. Daddy has pointed out that this is typical of house-builders round this area who do not understand the properties of fiberglass products. The resin will not stick long to plain plywood, and the sunlight breaks it down. Now it is clear that the plywood is falling apart. I do not know how much this person paid for a house that surely would be 2 million dollars on the Island beachfront, but the house which once made an interesting artistic statement now looks like an expensive and stupid mistake. Anyway we took some pictures of ourselves in front of it.

Back at the house I wanted to get into my Colonial clothes again. Jessy went up stairs first and by the time I came up to the room she was stark naked and enjoying herself on her bed. I do not think she saw me and I just backed out and left her to her reverie. I suppose I should not say this, but I do envy her sometimes. Although she is undeniably brilliant, well-educated, intellectual, and absolutely virtuous, she also has a completely pure, open, innocent view of just about everything, as though she has nothing to hide. Of course she would never do this in front of our parents, nor even J.J., being her sisters little Lisa and I have got an eyeful (and an earful) of her more than we'd care to. In respect to Jessy we just tolerate it. Jessy is only discovering herself in about the healthiest way she ever could. Who are any of us to tell her it's inappropriate?

I know I should not envy her because I can just as easily indulge myself in the same sort of way. But I confess it does not come easily for me. (Maybe that's a bad choice of words!) I too often find something to think about that takes me out of the mood. I have been asked (mostly online, but elsewhere too) what I think about when I'm doing it. Well, I really don't fantasise like that. I mostly think about what it feels like to be doing it, and I'm doing it, so it feels great... and so on.

Maybe it's just me... but I really do not understand why it is such an issue with some people. Maybe it's just an issue with me... I don't know.

Thinking this way put me in the mood for something else. Jessy (when she revived) and I discovered Mother's DVD of 'Bridget Jones' Diary' and we put that in and curled up in a blanket to watch. I was still in my Colonial gear-- somewhat apropos as the film is a deliberate throwback to things like 'Pride and Prejudice' (witness the romantic lead's name, 'Darcy', also the place where she works is called Pemberley, which is Darcy's estate in 'P & P', also consider the whole conflict of the plot that Darcy is the best 'catch' for the heroine but out of her own pride, or prejudice, she spends too much energy hating him first, etc., etc.). We all know 'P & P' is the best chick lit and best chick film in all history. Sadly it was not here at the beach house and 'Diary' would suffice. Jessy had on just her shift and socks and was probably more comfortable than I was in my bodice and stays, etc., but when she started toying with herself again I had to ask her to refrain. I just did not want to be snuggled under the same blanket and have her doing that. Fortunately she understood.

Actually 'Diary' is not very sexy at all and little about it put me into the same sort of mood... so leaving her to prepare a supper for us I went up stairs, got out of most of my gear, and took care of myself... and I didn't let her know.

...

Welcome 2009

For New Year's Eve we had intended to be in New Jersey at the house on the beach there but two things intervened. The first was that my nieces and nephews have got sick and we were asked to postpone our visit till this weekend. The second was that Daddy would not be allowed to set off firecrackers-- at least not legally. So, we would be here.

Jessy was on her phone all day Wednesday hoping to find a party to go to. In the end Daddy decided he would not drive her home too late at night and would only let her accept invitations to a party at a female friend's house where there would be parents home all night and she could stay over. None was forthcoming. We would be staying here. Normally this is not a problem as we have had New Year's Eves in the past in which we just sat round looking at old home videos of us or of Lisa or of Daddy's oldest family movies on DVD or even some of Mommy. Of course there are also videos of his band-- well, either of his bands-- and plenty of other things including the 18th-century-style wedding he and Mother had, and so on. For some reason New Year's always makes us all sort of pull back and stay close. I don't think that's a bad thing at all, and it sure beats a party full of drunk people whom you can't trust two minutes past midnight.

We ended up each inviting a friend. I invited Becky whom I met on the first day or two of school here. We have always got on well and she is not dating anyone either. She's not the most sociable person in school, meaning that she doesn't go out much at al unless she's invited, which rarely if ever happens. I feel sorry for her sometimes, but as I have got to know her I respect and love her more and more. It's just a shame that a pleasant-looking, morally decent, intelligent girl is so unpopular. In that way we both have something on common. Neither of us will yield on our principles and so we each end up on our own most of the time. So she was a natural choice for me to invite and I am happy she was able to come over.

Jessy invited Rita-- yes, pretty, uberpopular Rita who was somewhat wary of the parties she had got invited to. I don't like to admit it but this is probably the influence Jessy, and even I, have had on her. Last year Rita would have gone to any party and braved the 'elements', if you will, for the sake of cultivating a reputation of being admired and desired. This year she is more selective. An invitation from Jessy to just come to our house, hang out, and stay over till after pancakes for brunch was exactly what she had hoped for. And so it was settled.

Becky got here first because she has her own car. I put her bag in my room-- that would be the easiest solution. Mother and Lisa and J.J. were all in the small parlour reading and Daddy was sitting in the kitchen beating the dickens out of a new set of strings, as he says playing hard is the only way to break them in. When Becky and I came in he put down the guitar and was all politeness... as usual. He really does like to make a good impression on our friends. Becky knows enough about him as my dad that she is no longer awed by who he is, or, I might say, who her parents know he was. He got us each a glass of (low-alcoholic) eggnog and we talked about how our Christmases have been. We never get that much for Christmas-- not like new cars or computers or diamond jewelry, you know, just whatever we happen to need and at least some of the stuff on our Christmas lists. I know people like Becky often assume we are these hyper-rich people who jet all over the world. The reality is that Daddy pays himself a very modest 'allowance' from his investments and we live within those means. That means we girls get the same speeches about money that anyone else would. As for myself I am glad of it. I would NOT want to have an unlimited budget for all the world (I guess that is an ironic or stupid figure of speech to use for it! --but there it is).

Rita's mother dropped her off at about 9.30 and we watched 'Ten Things I Hate About You' (Jessy's choice) in the TV theatre down stairs. Daddy came down with us and Mother did too after tucking in J.J. Lisa tried staying up but fell asleep in Daddy's lap and he carried her up stairs. Meanwhile through all this a storm was blowing through. Our uncle in New Jersey had phoned earlier reporting that they had had snow. The wind built through the night till it was howling and pretty scary. By 11.45 we were all convinced that we would NOT go outside and set off fireworks. Other people did, though-- we could hear them all over the place. We watched the ball drop on Times Square and the stupid comments of Hilary Clinton and the Jonas Brothers. I said it was pretty banal. Becky asked if we had ever been to Time Square for New Year's. I said, 'No.'

Daddy laughed. 'I have,' he said.'

'But that's ancient history,' I teased him.

'London was better,' he said, and then smiled at me.

'London?' she wondered.

'Yes,' I said. 'We were there for the Millennium.'

'Really! That big party they had there?'

I nodded. So she had us tell her all about that. I was only little then, of course, but I remember Daddy being on TV and people like Elton John and Richard Branson speaking there. There was also a concert one night which we also attended. Daddy got out some old photos on DVD and we watched them on the big screen. After that we watched 'She's The Man' (Jessy's choice again, getting us ready to act in 'Twelfth Night' by choosing all the Shakespeare adaptations she can find).

So it was nearly 3.00 by the time we all tromped up stairs. Rita was to stay with Jessy and Becky would stay with me. I've had other people in my bed before-- always friends, you know, or sisters-- hah!-- and although it always sounds like it'd be awkward it really never is. Becky wore sweats to bed, same as I do when it's cold, and we faced each other over the gap between the pillows talking till we both fell asleep. Actually I was grateful for her being under the same covers. It was a brittle cold night that was passed most comfortably and warmly because she was there.

In the morning none of us got up before 11.00. I suppose this is typical. Perhaps not surprisingly, Rita was the latest sleeper. I suppose she would have had to be the only one of us more pampered and self-indulgent than Jessy! Mother made pancakes as promised and one-by-one we excused ourselves to shower. I know some people find it awkward to shower at someone else's house, but I rather insisted that both girls have showers here, just out of being a good hostess. I know how it feels to forego it. So they both did (not at the same time). Becky had hers in my bathroom, which she already likes because it has a view of the bay and the islands and the ocean beyond. She says I am the only one she knows with a bathroom with a view!

I actually napped this afternoon before writing this. Daddy was watching the Concert for George down stairs and I sat down there and watched that for a bit-- till of course he got out the guitar again to play along with it and then I came back up stairs and got ready for bed.

So, there were no wild parties, no excessive drinking (just our eggnog and the usual glasses of champagne at midnight), no making out on couches or strange boys' beds and no driving home amidst all the drunk drivers. And no firecrackers... though there might have been. Not very exciting I am sure-- but pleasant all round, with a nice chance to further cement friendships.

...

Stephanie Meyer is a vegetarian!

Monday 29 December

Jessy has been reading the 'Twilight' series of books, basically because everyone else she knows in 10th grade has been too, so that means I have had to read the books to see what they are about. I have read 'Twilight' and 'New Moon' so far. I cannot say I like the stories nor can I say I agree with what all the fuss is about. But of course I won't turn down a chance to go to the movies.

This afternoon Mother, Jessy and I rode in the green Cadillac with Roger driving of course, down to Lynnhaven Mall in VB where we watched 'Twilight'. For Jessy and me it was the 2nd time. For Mother it was the first. We have not had many chances to go out with just her, like this, just the three of us as though we are all just girls hanging out. Jessy and I wore skirts and tights and I wore my new short leather patchwork jacket over a pink sweater. Mother, who is normally never anxious about her appearance or how she dresses, was in her room about an hour before she descended, in a very cute glen plaid skirt and navy tights and a charcoal-grey sweater with a pink-grey-gold scarf tied round it, very chic yet conservative, sensible and good-looking-- she looked like a maturely-dressed 18-year-old. Being shorter than both of us she gets that a lot, you know.

'You look terrific!' Jessy said as she stepped down to the front hall.

Lisa came out to the hall to see her too. 'Oo, pretty,' she said, and Mother stooped to give her a kiss. 'Can't I go too?'

Jessy and I were shaking our heads. 'No, sweetheart,' Mother told her. 'I'm afraid its a little too gown-up and also scary.' She looked up at us and we nodded again. 'Very scary. I wouldn't want you to have bad dreams.'

'But I wouldn't!'

She so would and all three of us know it!

The ride down was uneventful. I had heard on Stardate on the radio that Venus, Mars and Jupiter were all visible at about-- yes, wait for it-- twilight, so as we got onto the middle of the bridge we were able to see them all. There was Venus, just above and to the left of the moon, and Mars and Jupiter down low, just as Sandy Wood on Stardate had said. To me that was kind of worth the whole boring ride down. Otherwise all we had to pay attention to was Jessy rattling incessantly about the 'Twilight' story in the hopes of enlightening Mother, who otherwise knew little about it.

At the mall we bought tickets first and then sat for tea till about 7.00. No one presumed that Mother was our stepmother. I am sure no one had any reason to believe she was much over 18 or 19. In the cinema we all sat together in the centre of the row in our skirts with our soda cups. Of course the only boys there were on dates with girls and so Jessy had no one to 'scope out'. Mother only giggled at her.

As I said I am not the biggest fan of the 'Twilight' series of books, mainly because I dislike the character of Bella. She is NOT the kind of person I would hang out with, being too quiet, too brooding, and too reluctant to extend herself a little, grow, change, experience something new. She acts like everyone is beneath her and sort of revels in her status as someone from somewhere else. The vampire guy seems to play straight into her grasp and indeed nearly sacrifices himself for her. The story reminds me of 'Message in a Bottle', the movie that Daddy liked with Kevin Costner as a guy who restores an old sailboat and ends up dying at the end for no good reason. It's a weak story by Nicholas Sparks (who seems to write nothing but weak, artificially-contrived plots) that is weak in the same way 'Twilight' is. Half of what the characters 'have to' be isn't anything they have to be. It's as though they make stupid, irrational choices and then claim it's what they 'have to' do. As a work of literature it is a storyline that depends on perception and feelings, not facts and common sense. Or, as Mother says, it's 'Romantic', as in the 'big-R' philosophical sense. Who would WANT to fall in love with a vampire? You'd have nothing in common. Bella falls for the vampire guy because she doesn't know anyone else and is willing, at 17 years old, after having known him for only a few weeks, to give her human life to live with the guy forever. I don't know a single girl who would do that at that age (my age) with even the very best choice of men. People really aren't quite that passionate. Ms Meyer counts on her young, mostly-female audience to feel the same irrational things she does in order for it all to work. Unfortunately, they do and so it appears to work.

Maybe that's just me. But however charming that vampire guy is, I wouldn't give up my life just to be with him, especially when I have more sensible options. Then again I thought the ending of 'Pirates'/'At World's End was stupid too. It should have been Jack Sparrow, who deserved no better, to be the new Davy Jones, and the nice blacksmith to end up with the Pearl and the nice wife happily ever after.

I started this to say that Stephanie Meyer, the author, is pictured in the movie ordering a vegetarian salad at the counter of the diner in Forks, Washington. And Bella also orders a vegetarian meal and criticise her father for eating steak. Is this some kind of PETA statement, or just irony in the movie? You decide. I'll stick to 'Gossip Girl' which is just unpretentious enough to get away with being stupid.

...

Christmas panties

Saturday 27 December 2008

Jessy and I were shopping last week and we found these adorably cute all-cotton panties in Family Dollar for Christmas. They are just plain bikini cut, a bit higher on the leg than most of mine, which is comfortable, all-cotton, and they were available in a variety of colours, all with the same print candy canes and snowmen and holly sprigs and snowflakes. We giggled to see them and then decided to treat ourselves to some Christmas cheer. The ones I got are bright green and hers are pale pink. Later in the mall we bought for each other, as sort of a present, a couple pairs of these very high knee socks with a cute pattern of little secular symbols round a white band at the top and along the sides, like the seam in those sexy stockings. We each got a set in bright red and a set in a lighter green. This is pretty much what I have been wearing this season-- I've already washed this stuff three times.

Half of the time since Christmas I have been lolling round this room mostly undressed and the socks, which come over my knee, and the big fluffy light-grey polartec pulli have made a pretty comfortable outfit. The night we watched the video with Gran I pulled on white ballet tights and pulled the socks on over them again and that was perfectly comfortable and presentable for round the house since the pulli comes down almost like a minidress. Daddy said I looked cute-- that was of course before Jessy came down in bright-red boxer shorts under her long navy-blue sweater and looked cuter. Little Lisa came down for the video in her actual ballet leotard and tights, and a new sweater she got for Christmas, and then sent the cute-o-meter off the stops. But it's the Christmas season and I enjoy being able to be warm and cosy and somehow relieved of the responsibility to wear clothes, or at least proper clothes.

We have got church in the morning (and yes already picked out my clothes) and I am not going to stay online at 4.00 am rambling about junk like this!

...

God save the queen

Friday evening, 26 December 2008

Someone online asked me this afternoon if I had noticed, or if I appreciated, that I have an 'affectation' of using 'Britishisms' (a term I despise though I knew what he meant). I said yes, I know I do; but it is mostly habit and less deliberate. I spent two years in an English public school (read that, in the US: 'private school') and what I came to appreciate was a culture which was always part of my family heritage and always interested me, but to which I had always been only an outsider. It was one thing to hear about a real-life city being lived in by real-life people that happens to have a 10th-century castle right in the middle of it-- it is quite another thing to actually BE one of those people living there and being able to actually touch the 10th-century castle on a daily basis. It gives you a unique perspective, and it has expanded, not narrowed, my own. I discovered and came to love the routines of being English-- singing the national anthem and reciting a prayer for the sovereign in church (and in school) and driving on the left and calling the 'sidewalk' the 'pavement' and so on. Returning to the US a wiser and older person I honestly found it hard to remember all the words to the Pledge of Allegiance and the 'N' form of the past participle and that I have to look left, not right, when crossing a street from the kerb.

I did NOT 'pick up an accent', as someone asked me once, though at one point before I got there I did consider doing that. I confess it's been a temptation, especially living with my stepmother for so long, but though I am often accused of being a thespian I decided it would be disrespectful to do it badly and so left it to Gwyneth Paltrow who does it much, much better.

Some people will remain convinced it is really just an affectation and that by continuing to use the grammar and spellings I use I am trying to say I consider myself superior to most American people. That is a common accusation I get. My stepmother, being ethnic English and Anglican but raised in Roman Catholic Australia, has had it all her life. The saddest part of it is, as my father says, how everyone in America may be so quick to judge all things British as being inferior, but, as he says, 'not one of them would refuse an honorary knighthood.'

One 'Americanism' I have learnt to utterly deplore is the tendency to so quickly judge everything by American standards. For a country which pretends to be so 'tolerant' and 'open-minded' and 'liberal' we Yanks really are not. We do not really accept other cultures' ways of doing things without at least a little bit of feeling superior to them all, and this is nowhere truer than with the British. Disney and Mel Gibson and so many others have made millions from belittling, disparaging and incorrectly portraying British history and culture, and their ugly assumptions are what Americans have come to accept as truth. I got into an argument once online after mentioning that I had read Churchill's book 'Their Finest Hour' over the summer which clearly shows how the British fought World War Two totally ALONE on about five fronts for nearly three years before the Americans chose to become involved-- and all I got for saying this clear FACT was 'Oh, no, WE "bailed out" the Brits.' ('Well the book was written by a Brit', someone said.) The FACT is that America allowed Mr Churchill's government to suffer immeasurable losses and only got involved in the war when it served American interests to do so-- and yet, even so, the British people extend to America a grateful, admiring respect because they're just that unselfish, humble, and affectionate. It's one of the things that makes them British.

For Christmas, Mother gave to Gran the movie 'The Queen' on DVD, and we watched it tonight. When I say 'we' I mean all of us, even little J.J., nearly three, who played quietly, 'as good as gold', on the floor of the TV theatre down stairs. It is a very well-made, serious and sympathetic portrayal of HRH The Queen as she and her household coped with the death of estranged princess Diana in 1997. Naturally the filmmakers had two options with this story-- the most likely was that they would depict the queen as being cold, ruthless, hateful and spiteful, deliberately ignoring anyone's feelings but her own, sticking to principle at the cost of ethics, and so on. The least likely was that they would depict that whole situation as being so unorthodox and unpredictable that the queen deserves our sympathy for simply not knowing how to handle it. The strangest thing of all was that the filmmakers did both.

The most important statement the film 'The Queen' made was nearly at the end, when the queen explains to the eager and innocent PM Tony Blair that 'This is how I was brought up.' She (played by Dame Helen Mirren) explained that she believed the best of the British people would expect their queen to be somewhat stoic, not easily moved to mush at the loss of one person (who by her own choice wasn't even family any more). The character of PM Blair actually gets mad at one of his assistants and says how 'this woman' (the queen) has devoted her life to quiet, principled leadership, including towards a young girl (Diana) who devalued everything the queen offered to her and spent the last years of her life vocally denouncing it all over the world. The American-style mourning for Princess Di, public, emotional, unreasonable and completely out of proportion to her actual, formal status, even called for lowering the British flag on top of the palace-- though the British NEVER observe that custom even when a PM or king dies, the royal family were prevailed upon to adopt it 'just this once' for someone who had willingly and gratefully left their family and that house altogether. People (and the press, on both sides of the Atlantic) were sending public hate letters to the queen personally. This could have made me cry if not for the strong, almost stoic way in which Dame Helen played her. And when you understand what the actress was going for (yes, we watched all the 'making of' special features too) you must have some appreciation for the queen herself. After all what has made Britain as great as it has always been is the very British way in which they do things. To a Briton there really is no other way to do them.

My father has on his office wall a copy of the queen's formal Coronation portrait from 1953. He says he likes the picture, but we all sort of know better. True-- the queen herself is very pretty, a 26-year-old young mother and wife who ascends to her father's place almost shyly, but willingly-- that's a role model for any woman. But Daddy likes more what the picture represents-- almost 1000 years of unbroken tradition in culture and government without which this country of America would never have stood. America broke free of Britain because of the British way of doing things, and yet it survives for the same reason. After all there can be no unselfish, elected service and leadership without the English concept of 'noblesse oblige'-- the philosophy that the good people do the right thing just because it IS the right thing. It is 'Deus et mon droit' = 'God and my right hand' --God blesses what I do that is right, or, when I do the right thing God is with me doing it too. The point is that it is right because it is right.

The British motto is the Old French is 'Hony soi qui mal pence' -- 'Evil to he who thinks evil of it.' How Americans should learn this! It means that you condemn, you deserve to be condemned. If you judge, you deserve to be judged-- since the truly right thing is so right that only the truly evil could ever condemn it. Or, as Alexander Pope said, 'Whatever IS is right' --because it comes from God. God's will be done-- and God save the queen.

...

'Purple Rain'

Monday 3 November 2008

Jessy was over her friend's house watching 'HSM' 1 and 2 tonight, in preparation for taking this friend and like two others who have never seen either of them to the 3rd movie in VB this coming weekend. When Roger, our driver, brought her home, I had been paging through channels and stopped on the rock movie 'Purple Rain' with Prince. Jessy came in then, rolled her eyes, and went out. Next I heard some whining voice attempting to sing the notes of the song and called out, 'Hang it up!' --you know, like she could give it over now and spare us all. But it wasn't Jessy. Next I knew my dad came in, still whining through the notes of the song, really just to mimic it as he sings much better than this! 'Oh sheesh,' I said, pretending to complain more, and when I turned round I realised he had the unplugged Stratocaster on his knee, standing in the back of our TV room with the guitar, going almost not-for-note with Prince. I laughed.

'Hey,' he said, in between notes. 'This stuff is legendary.'

I laughed again. The thing I do not often enough say about my dad is that he's actually been there, you know-- there was a time he was up on the stage playing to packed houses, some a lot larger than I'd care to say. And the 'legend' of our own family is that Daddy actually met Prince, in New York, in about 1985, before he had even met Mommy. But then he's met a lot of people, and I'm sure a lot of people can say they've met him. Nowadays he never drops names-- you'd really have to prise it out of him, but during his heyday he was pretty influential and is able to rely on that now when he selects a new artiste to work with.

He sat down with me to watch the end of the movie, when the character played by Prince finds his confidence and performs the show of his career. The stage antics of this guy are amazing. He does a thing with the microphone stand where he lets it come falling back at him, lifts his leg and throws his whole foot over it, and catches it again as it rocks up again. I don't know how he does it.

Daddy commented that no Rickenbacker guitar actually sounds like the soundtrack where Wendy is playing. And you can't hear the bass at all, but it looks like the guy in the picture isn't really playing anyway. And the drums sound more like a machine than the live drums in the movie. And where are all the vocals coming from? And would that punk-rock-looking guy in the audience really clap so enthusiastically like that for an act like Prince in real life?

Then over the end credits he started picking away at the guitar so much that I got up and left the room. I'm not sure but I think he is still down there!

...

Game 5

Monday 27 October 2008

Lisa appeared in my doorway and called, gently, as though she were interrupting a princess, 'Are you going down to watch the game?'

I nodded, still with my nose in the history book. 'Yes. In a minute.'

'Are you guys going to indulge?'

Yes-- she knows that word. It's what Jessy and I have been calling it when we choose to be naked, or even less than dressed. We'll be watching the game with everyone but J.J., who's in bed by 8.00, Mother who carries a monitor to hear his room from wherever she is, Daddy and the three of us girls. I looked up and little Lisa was rocking on her heels as she habitually does when she's embarrassed, in her black maryjanes, white socks and pink panties peeking out from under her green-and-white polo shirt. I smiled at her. 'I see you are,' I said.

She shrugged cutely. 'So... are you?'

'If you do, then I will.'

Lisa smiled ecstatically then. She adores being one of us, one of the big girls, someone who can make decisions and affect what others do. Then Jessy appeared bare-shouldered behind her. 'I'm having a shower,' she said, and met eyes with Lisa. 'I'd prefer to be clean. Do you want to join me?'

'In the shower?' little Lisa asked, impressed to have been so invited. But it's not the first time for this. Within minutes they were both in there... leaving me enough time to finish homework.

Daddy came up to check on Lisa and discovered her just as she and Jessy were emerging from the bathroom. My door was still open and I heard him say, 'Well if you're coming down to watch the game, please at least have something on.'

Jessy giggled. 'But of course, Daddy!'

Lisa giggled then too.

As it turns out they both went down to watch the game in their underwear. I put aside my almost-done homework and got into something cute and comfortable for the evening, my pale-peach-coloured set from England and my good black shoes that are like maryjanes with little heels. I descended with my snuggly blanket and stepped in to the TV room during a commercial when none of them were paying attention to the screen. 'Ta-da!' I sang, lifting my arms out and twirling on my heels.

They all laughed, even Daddy. 'At least she's wearing something,' Mother said wryly.

I took a place in the far side, beside Lisa whose feet stuck out beyond her own snuggly blanket, in her own black maryjanes. She giggled and squirmed a little closer to me.

The game proceeded and slowly became rained-out. Lisa went up to bed after the second inning when the Phillies were leading two to one. At one point I know I nodded off and woke up feeling, shall we say, somewhat uncomfortable somewhere under the blanket. The room was dark, Daddy and Mother were in the back row, and Jessy was alternately sending text-messages on her phone and watching the game. I realised that without even thinking I had started caressing myself on the front of the panties. It was pleasant and I was able to go on without letting the blanket move. For a moment I actually entertained the idea of not stopping but going inside and onwards without worrying how far it would go. But fate intervened-- Mother and Daddy got up and said they were going up stairs. I blinked and stared at the screen-- there was a torrential downpour at the ballfield and people were sweeping up puddles in the infield. 'Oh,' I said, embarrassed because I hadn't been paying attention.

'This is awful,' Jessy said, and as soon as they went out she turned to me. 'Are you all right?'

I nodded.

'I mean... are you really?'

I just turned to her and lifted my eyebrows.

She giggled at once. At that moment the Devil Rays' batter got a hit. The base runner came home. It was a tied game in the midst of a freezing deluge. 'Drat!' Jessy swore. 'This is awful!' Then came the third out and the inning was over. She got up. 'I'm going to tell Daddy. Do you want anything?'

I shook my head.

'Mm, I'm sure you don't.' She giggled again and left me alone in the room.

A little after that I happened to focus on the TV screen. Game Five of the World Series had been called for rain with the score tied in the middle of the 6th inning.

...

Lazing on a Sunday afternoon

Sunday 26 October

I don't have on any clothes. Since Thursday it's gone wet but very warm. There's been a thick fog over the Bay outside all three mornings now... today so dense that I barely saw the sun come up.

Last night was the dance for Homecoming and we (Jessy and I) got in late, so after we managed to get up for church this morning we were allowed to return home straight away and Mother made waffles for late brunch. Jessy was doing homework and listening to music on her headset when Lisa came in and fell asleep on Jessy's bed. I got all undressed to have a nap but Mother was watching Jodie Foster in 'Foxes' down stairs and she did not mind that I curled up there with a summer blanket and watched that through the middle afternoon when I really fell asleep. I did put something on for dinner but only for that long and then Jessy and I were trying on outfits and I ended up in just socks and my good ivory-coloured satin panties, just because. For watching the game down stairs I wrapped up in snuggly zip-up blanket.

Oh, of course we have all been watching the Series. Daddy's 'home team' has always been Philadelphia, even through living at the NJ Shore, at Staten Island and even at London over the course of his life. So this week has been exciting for us. As I write this 'we' (optimistic Philadelphia fans) are up two games to one and looking good for a third tonight in the fourth... at home in Philadelphia, etc. Some time in the 6th inning I excused myself and came up here to type. I have been so tardy on this blog since I was sick. But just the sound of the game coming off Jessy's computer in the next room isn't enough. I wrapped up in the snuggly blanket again (without the panties this time!) and went back down to watch the end of the game.

This just in-- the Phillies won. 'One more and that's it,' Daddy said. Yay.

...

A big-girls' evening

Friday 24 October 2008

My cellphone alarm went off at 7.20 this morning while I was still in the car on the way to school. Jessy looked over from the other seat at me. 'Is that--?'

I nodded briskly. 'You know it is!' And we shared an excited giggle then.

'High School Musical III' has been announced over and over for months. It was to open tonight and for at least the last six weeks my cellphone alarm has been set to remind me when this day came. We went through school all agog with the excitement of knowing that this afternoon we'd be off on our way to see this long-awaited feature. Along the way we were able to entice both Becky and Rita to join us. Oddly Anna was not interested in seeing it. And Josie would be seeing it with her cousin and younger sister. Most importantly we were to pick up a very special guest, en route to VB immediately after school.

When Roger arrived with the dark-green Cadillac the booster seat was already in place. We swung round to the primary school and I got out, to stand in the warm, almost-raining afternoon mist to meet little Lisa as she scurried out from her classroom door. 'Janine!' she squealed, crashing headlong into my arms.

I scooped her up at once and hugged her. 'Are you all ready to go?'

She nodded enthusiastically. 'I told all my friends I was going to see the movie,' she said. 'With my big sisters.'

I kissed the side of her head. 'We're going to have ourselves a big-girl evening, right?'

She made that nod again.

Of course I rang Mother from the car to let her know we had collected Lisa and were on out way. Rita and Becky were amused and impressed that Jessy and I were having out five-year-old sister join us. But that was half the fun. Lisa sat in her booster seat in the middle of the back seat, with Jessy to her left and me to her right and Rita and Josie in the other seats facing us. We went over the 22-mile bridge into VB and pulled up at the Lynnhaven mall at about 4.00. First we ran over and got tickets. There was a bit of a queue there so Becky and I left Jessy and Rita there with the money and took Lisa to the toilets. It was fortunate that we were able to get booked for the 6.45 show. Then we had the chance to wander round the mall a bit, looking in all the shops, and I bought Lisa a kid's-size shirt in Aero.

'I want to wear it next school day,' she said. 'I'll be cool.'

She just loves thinking of herself as being just like Jessy and me. Even as she idolises us we both adore her for it. 'You sure will be,' Jessy said. 'And I can wear my Aero shirt too,' Jessy was saying, 'and we'll be twins.'

Lisa giggled hard at that. 'And I can wear mine,' Becky was saying to her, 'and maybe we can all be cool together.'

Lisa beamed, dangling along on the end of my arm. This really was a thrill for her.

We had supper at Chick-Fil-A and then got ourselves to the cinema-- after a precautionary trip to the toilets again-- for the movie. Jessy noted that the first for-film edition of an HSM movie appeared 'juiced' or as Rita called it 'amped up'. The colours are crisp and the close-ups are vibrant and alive somehow. I don't know how else to describe it. It just hits you like spice or lightning or a drum crack or something. We all adored the story from start to finish. There really are no dull spots in the whole film. The ending (I won't say what happens yet) was satisfying because you are expecting that Troy will choose one option for his future, and then another, and the option he chooses is a total surprise and yet perfect for both his future and his character. Many Christian and children's groups have consistently praised the 'HSM' series because it is more like what Disney used to do-- entirely G-rated, you know, with nothing at all inappropriate, and a definite moral center. After all Troy never even kisses Gabriella till the end of the second movie! But it's still very romantic, especially the dancing scene on the rooftop. Jessy observed that Gabriella wears a cross round her neck. The stuff about Troy as a little boy is adorable (half the cinema sighed 'Awww!').

The best part for us is that little Lisa, who is a smart little girl but still just five years old, got most of the details of the movie including the ending. All the way home over the bridge we all talked about it, till Lisa fell asleep with her head on my shoulder. That was good because we would avoid any superfluous stops for the potty.

Roger delivered Becky and then Rita at their homes and Lisa finally woke up about five minutes from our house. It was 10.25 when I carried her up to the door. Mother met me as I was starting up the steps. 'How was it?' she asked softly.

'Everyone had a nice time,' I said. 'Some of us sort of overdosed on big-girl fun tonight.'

She smiled. 'Well, no one has to get up early tomorrow.'

'I won't,' I said. Lisa sighed sleepily. I got her into her pyjamas and helped her brush teeth and Mother came up to say prayers and tuck her in. In my room I got undressed and started typing in this but I fell asleep... and so what is typed here has been done over this weekend.

...

Cinnamon Toast and the Dust-free Shelf

Saturday 27 September 2008

At HOH (the school Jessy and I attended in England), many of the girls boarded there, and their dorm rooms were often the place to hang out after classes or during weekends when there were events going on. I stayed over with two of my friends, on the floor between their beds, during an all-night haunted-house party, and then a few other times just for fun. Likewise we hosted friends at our (rented) house several times too. The boarding girls are often lonely and far from home, but at HOH there is no clique made of either day girls or boarding girls-- we are all one family.

One of my friends was (or is) a very pretty, sweet-natured girl originally from Singapore, whose parents moved to England for a short while, just long enough for her to start at HOH and make friends before they were temporarily transferred to Amsterdam. She wanted to stay on and so became a boarding girl. The last I saw of her was a few days before the end of second term when she was packing up her things to leave the dorm and relocate with her parents to Surrey. I stood in the room close to catatonic with sadness, and she went on prattling about some funny thing she and her sister did over a summer break long ago, completely unwilling to face the fact that we will probably never see each other again. In her almost random packing of just everything she had into everything she could carry, she turned to the bookshelf along the wall beside her bed and started scooping up stuff and dropping it all it into a box. In the midst of it all a small brown bear fell off onto the bed and I caught it, holding it to myself as she went on packing. She did not notice I had the bear till she happened to glance up. 'Oh! You look cute together,' she said.

I shrugged, holding the bear, actually rocking with it a little. 'He looked like he needed a hug,' I said.

'I don't even know where I got that,' she smiled. 'I swear all I do is dust the shelf with it.'

I looked, and sure enough the bear's bottom was dirty from having been slid side-to-side on the shelf. I was still holding him when the stewards came and shifted her stuff out to the reception room, so kind of as a farewell gesture-- and mostly because I am sucha sap-- I said I'd take him home, clean him for her, and bring him to the farewell party tonight. 'He can't go off to a new home with a dirty bottom,' I said.

She laughed. 'Why don't you take him home, and you give him a new home?' And so I did.

Cinnamon Toast is a small cinnamon-brown bear, about 15 inches tall if he were to stand up on his short little legs, but he is always sitting on his soft round bottom. He is a very polite and modest little bear who never insists on his own way and never gets impatient for attention even though I think I lavish him with it a bit too much, in deliberate compensation for how lonely he must have been just dusting the shelf in the dorm room. In some form of ursine gratitude he is always happy to see me and loves to hold onto my arm with his Velcro palms, like when he sits on my lap while I write. He has a loopy kind of smile and lopsided eyes and if you wind him up he plays a music-box rendition of 'Teddy Bears' Picnic', which I hardly ever do.

I am sure Cinnamon was originally from China, though I haven't looked at his faded tag and he is too plump and soft to twist round and look at it himself. But, you see, all bears learn the culture in which they grow up. Cinnamon has always heard English, he understands English, and he thinks of himself as English. I do not think he reads English, but he does like books and enjoys looking at pictures when I read to him. Sometimes I have left him on the bed with my current book and return to find he is looking into it. I think this exposure to literacy enriches his life. He has read 'Wuthering Heights', Ann Radcliffe's 'The Italian', 'The Great Gatsby', and countless issues of 'Cosmo Girl' and 'Vogue'. He has seen dozens of literary films on DVD as well as plenty of episodes of 'Gossip Girl', 'Greek', 'Gilmour Girls', 'Coupling', 'Eastenders' and 'Staying In'. He has seen 'The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants' three times and 'Narnia', I think, four.

I do not think Cinnamon misses living in the dorm very much. It was very dusty sitting alone on the shelf with books and photo collections of people he does not know and I know that a few times the Statue of Liberty from Paris had been leaning too sharply into his arm. Here is he an active part of my room and gets to sit or roll around anywhere I am-- and I am often in my room when it is not nice enough or light enough to be outside. He does not get thrown round indiscriminately like a hot-potato and is never subjected to ignominious treatment such as being trapped under soiled laundry or left to fall into ash from the fire. He does not care for the outdoors but has never been left in the garden dirt either. Aside from figure dolls he is one of only two male creatures I have here, the other being a brown bison my sister gave me from the Cape May zoo who soberly occupies a corner of the bookshelf. Actually I do not have a large menagerie at all any more, having given much of it away to Catholic Charities or children I have known, or else spread it round my rooms in New Jersey, Delaware, and also here. Cinnamon goes with me wherever I will be spending the night, except on the boat, since we have returned to Virginia, and has sat on my lap (usually reading or napping) for two westward flights and one eastward flight across the Atlantic.

He is gentlemanly enough to not look when I am getting dressed but not too prudish to sit on my knee when I am not dressed. He is fluffy enough that he does not need to hog the covers and warm enough that the few times he has rolled off onto the floor and spent half the night down there he does not catch cold. I know Cinnamon forgives me for that because when I apologise about it he smiles at me. In this way we have an understanding. I kiss him goodnight every night, after my prayers, and say goodbye to him in the morning. He waits for me patiently to get home and since I always come up to my room straight away when I get home he never feels lonely or ignored. 'Hello, Cinnamon!' I call as I come in. 'Where is my good little bear?'

And he smiles up from the book he is perusing to say, 'Here I am, my princess!'

I think that for anyone the unconditional adoration of a small fluffy friend is a Godsend, in that I actually believe God has grant us fluffy toys for us to befriend and love. It is a kind of practice for the real thing. Our family do not have any pets-- we move around or holiday much too frequently and spontaneously for that-- and having no boyfriend or husband or children of my own, Cinnamon is the one I care for at this stage of my life. Maybe that is immature. But I raised around love and having respect for everyone and everything, and, I am glad to have Cinnamon as the one who listens in on my silent prayers and accepts me for everything that I am.

...

Lolling

Thursday 11 September 2008

When I got home from school today I went up my little round table in my room, read and typed till I'd got done a good half of my homework, and then went down for tea. Mother is always very happy to serve tea and to ask us all about our day. She and I sat with Lisa and J.J. at the table in the small dining room. Jessy had insisted on doing her homework-- however odd that sounds. And Daddy was not here-- he's been working in the studio that's at our old house up at Lewes because it's more local for the band he's working with. Jessy asked once if this meant we could just move 'home' --the word she used-- to that house. Mother had to think about that. Neither of my parents can say we are actually putting down roots here, but they intend for us two to finish at this high school and having a residence in Virginia looks good for either VCU or William and Mary. And Daddy intends to invest some more. So for now this castle is home.

As I was helping Mother clear off, Jessy sauntered into the kitchen from the front stairs. She was naked except for her low-heeled pink pumps, which she had not worn to school but chosen out of her wardrobe after she'd got home today. It's kind of what she and I do. 'Hey,' I said, deliberately not making any issue out of how she looked.

'Hey--'

'Jesseeeeeee!' little Lisa squealed, running out to give her a hug, which was scarcely round her waist.

Jessy only giggled. Lisa is harmless and adorable. 'I'm sorry I missed tea,' Jessy said as Mother came in with dishes. 'Any ladyfingers left?'

'We didn't have ladyfingers; we had scones,' Lisa told her.

'Oo. Any of those left?'

'Yes,' Mother told her, 'but hurry up and eat one, because you'll be running into supper time.'

'Isn't Daddy coming home later?'

Mother shook her head. 'He's on the road as we speak.'

'Good!' Lisa cheered.

Jessy and Lisa went back up stairs. I stayed down a while and read to J.J., then we coloured, then he needed to be changed which I left for Mother and went back up. In Lisa's room Jessy lay across the bed, with her bare bottom sticking up as she leaned down over the far side to play Barbies with her. It was funny, in a cute kind of way. But at least she's free and clear today too.

After supper Lisa appeared in my doorway and asked if I wold join her and Jessy down in the TV room to watch 'Gold Diggers' on DVD. I looked up and saw she was all bare too now. 'Is this a thing, now, that we all have to do together?'

Lisa shrugged, cutely. 'I don't know. I just felt like it....' She twirled back and forth on the balls of her feet as though being bashful, though she really does like being naked. 'So... are you going to?'

I laughed. 'Yes, sweetie, if you insist.'

She giggled in delight and spun round to bound down the stairs. So I got out of everything I had on. It's been cool lately; there hasn't been any return of summer humidity since even before the storm, and the basement is particularly chilly. I drew out an armload of blankets from the hall cupboard before going down. 'What's that for?' Lisa asked, standing up in the centre of the room like she'd been directing Jessy where to sit.

I peeled one of the blankets off the pile. 'Well, it's not exactly warm down here,' I said.

'I want the green one!' Lisa claimed, and relieved me of the blanket. So much for her standing on principle.

So we all curled up, mostly in separate corners of the sofas, and watched 'Gold Diggers' on DVD. Mother came down after tucking in J.J. and sat in the side chair watching the last half of the movie with us. By that time the room had warmed up somewhat from our having been in it and none of us was very covered. In fact I lay half on my back and half on my side with the whole thing thrown off. This is the kind of freedom I love when I'm naked. I feel like half the Queen of Sheba, privileged and pampered, and half Eve, a poor innocent child in the woods. In a way I guess that says something about my personality.

And honestly, my parents do not mind that I loll round the house like this at all. I know that some people think it's arrogant... but it's not. It's the opposite-- it's actually very humbling. I am helpless and vulnerable, I cannot hide myself-- I can only be what I really am, natural and free. Some people think it's conceited... but it's not. I would never flaunt my body, because it's only what God gave me, so, not to me, not to me, but to Him be the glory. Some people think it's sexual... but it's not. If I feel totally piqued all over, it's because I am so immediately aware of everything-- the texture of the sofa, the least little breeze, a droplet of perspiration down the middle of my back-- but it's not arousing in the sense that my body's crying out for some sort of intimate attention. It's just a form of intense comfort, like my body and soul are both completely at ease, and the comfort itself is excitingly delightful. If I could really live like this-- and I mean all the time, in every part of my life-- I probably would. Then again... who wouldn't?

...

Dressing up

Tuesday 26 August 2008

I love underwear. I think my fascination with comfortable cotton underthings may have began when I very accidentally walked in on my stepmother, when she was still our nanny, while she was changing. I had not even seen my mother in her underwear very often and I thought seeing someone else would be very embarrassing, but our nanny only said hello politely and went on getting dressed. I was about eight years old then but she would not let either of us feel even the least awkward no matter what she was doing. That was her way of showing trust; and we have always trusted her and she has always been open and honest with us.

A big part of it may have been that our nanny (as she was then) was so pretty. Our mother was very pretty, but a child always looks at her mother as an adult, and here we had a very pretty girl living with us, with the body and authority of an adult and the innocence and youth of just a big sister. And she was always very ladylike and proper; she wore skirts and stockings and high heels (maybe because she is so short!) and put up her hair and wore makeup. In summers she wore bikini swimsuits; she had about four including a very elegant bright blue one, but none of them were immodest at all. I have to say that our nanny, while young and beautiful and very trusting, was (and still is!) very modest. Like our mother she showed us the example of what a lady should be, and I think that is why we all (including our father, when that time came) have always been so respectful and fond of her.

When she was still our nanny she took me bra shopping for the first time. She was the one I asked about when you get your period. I also consulted her, after she had become my stepmother, about how to behave on a first date (which oddly enough was an experience she had never really had!). At each of these times she did her best to give me good advice and to sympathise with the fact that I was a total twit about what I was asking. She has always been very gentle and thoughtful with these issues and Jessy and I have never felt that we have no one to turn to. We have lost our mother, eight years ago now, but we have found someone who does not replace her but adds to our experience of having known her, mainly because our nanny loved our mother too, almost as another daughter would have. (Okay, maybe it's kind of complex.)

The Olympics are over and Jessy and I have had marked on the calendar for some time now that the season premiere of 'Greek' is Tuesday evening. For some reason, totally independently, we each decided to make an event of it. I let our stepmother know that we'd be 'reserving' the down stairs TV room for this event. Jessy dug out from the freezer some microwave eclairs (we have a microwave in the hall just outside the TV room). And, for some reason we did not discuss and did expect beforehand, we both decided to dress up.

In England we went shopping with our stepmother often, not always buying a lot, but just because the shops are so great. You will walk down a high street in Norwich, instead of a mall, and they will have the nicest little shops in the world. While there we bought plenty of pyjamas (we had not brought any with us, only nightgowns), and socks and stockings and underwear. With our stepmother I think it makes her feel feminine and ladylike that she has other 'women' (us) to shop with. With us I think we feel honoured and respected. She treats us as young women but with the knowledge that we are not so experienced in the world, and we trust her with whatever questions we have.

I came home with, among other stuff, three sets of panties and bra, very soft, well-fitting, and comfortable, all the same in different pastel colours, in celery, salmon, and a robin's-egg blue. The bottom is trimmed in soft flat lace and the top is a sweetheart cut, which works well on me... even alone, which is what I am trying to talk about in this blog.

After a very thorough shower I towelled off and put on the celery-coloured set, adjusting the fit very carefully. Good underwear will always look great on you; it lies flat and pretty much stays where you put it. If you've ever felt the waist or legs rolling under, you have got bad underwear. The top should fit properly round underneath and not have to be readjusted after you raise your arms or twist about. These don't at all, which is a big reason why I got them.

I dried and pinned up all my hair, not too carefully, and put on a little makeup, not too much, just doing my eyes and patting my cheeks a little, for like Mother says a carefree, natural look is always best. I put on a little gold necklace and stepped into my sandals, which are natural basket-weave with white straps, and I went down to the kitchen first for a pitcher of iced tea and then back through the house to the side stairs to the basement TV room. I didn't see my father or stepmother or little J.J., but it wouldn't have mattered if I had!

Jessy was already there, stylishly dressed in a plain black leotard and little black ballet flats, with makeup on and her hair put up almost the same as mine. We stood there, me in the doorway and she down at the corner of the couch, and looked at each other and giggled. 'You too?' I laughed.

'Me? But I did it first!' And we laughed some more.

Then, to make it even cuter, little Lisa who just turned five this month came down, in her little flowery lavender panties and what Mother, who is really English, calls a 'vest' and Americans call a tank-top. But we knew that she had seen one or the other of us going down tonight and chose to join us... as she often does. She ended up sitting between us on the sofa.

So, all dressed up like we could never have done to go anywhere else, we sat down to microwave creampuffs and iced tea, tuned in to 'Greek' and watched snooty Rebecca get her butt kicked for what she truly deserved. Lisa didn't get all the finer points but she did understand that the girls (and the boys) were all guilty of having been mean to each other at least a little, and that's what anyone is supposed to have got out of that episode.

When it was over, at 10.00, little Lisa was nearly asleep. I prodded her up two flights of stairs while Jessy put away the movie and put out the lights. Lisa went into the potty and brushed her teeth, and I went into mine, and then Mother came down the gallery and tucked in Lisa. So when I came out she was just going and Lisa was lying in bed with the sheet pulled up to her neck. 'Janine?' came the small voice.

I had stepped out of the sandals in my bathroom and tiptoed into the darkened room. 'Yes, sweetie?'

She looked up at me with those wide admiring eyes as I came in and sat down on the edge of her bed. 'I had fun tonight. Watching your show with you and Jessy.'

I smiled, stroking her head gently to keep the hair out of her face. 'I had fun, too, sweetie.'

We sisters always call each other things like 'Sweetie'. It's something we got from our stepmother too... from when she was our nanny and Lisa wasn't even an idea anyone would think to think of.

'Can I ask you something?'asked the little voice above the sheet.

'Of course, sweetie.'

'When can I get a bra?'

I blushed. I knew why she asked me that, why she would not have asked Jessy, for example, and why also she did not ask her own mother. After all this bra fits really well-- 'Aw, sweetie.... You will get one when it's your time to get one. I promise.'

'And when is that?'

I didn't know to explain all the physiological evidence about it, not while she is still five, so I just said, 'God will decide. Just trust God about it.'

She nodded a little. 'Okay.' she said. 'I just hope I'm as beautiful as you are.'

I blushed again, and it made me lean down and kiss her head. 'Oh, I'm sure you'll be as beautiful as you are!'

She smiled up at me. She is too young to know that what I said was no answer at all. She thinks it is the perfect answer.

'I love you, Janine.'

I smiled. 'And I love you.' And I kissed her goodnight and went back to my own room.

...

I cannot say it had not occurred to me when I got 'dressed', if you can call it that, for our TV event down stairs. But after my little sister's flattery it was suddenly hard to leave the mirror. Very uncharacteristically I stood for some minutes just staring at myself. The fit of the bra IS really good-- the sweetheart neck kind of lifts what little I need it to and with my back straight my shape is really healthy. And the bottoms are close-fitting without being awkward; it's really a good fit.

At first I reached round behind myself and opened the bra. I tossed it over into the chair and reached up to undo my hair which fell down round my shoulders, tickling my skin, and made me shiver. For a second I closed my eyes. Then I pushed off the panties, kicking them a little over towards the chair. Stepping back till my legs bumped the bed, I sat on it, still staring at myself in the mirror. Then, keeping my legs together as a lady should, I got myself up into the bed and drew up the sheet.

But it did not stay up long. Even before I'd put out the bedside lamps it was kicked down past my feet and I was well on my way.

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